


You Decide Very Quickly That Some Things are Worth it

by Falke



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gen, POV First Person, POV Judy Hopps, POV Nick Wilde, Spoilers, Violence, overcranked drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-05-31 06:11:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6458956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Falke/pseuds/Falke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That look is why I started this. Whenever she looks at me I know, deep down, that she's learned to see more in me than what I present to the world. She's got me believing I'm more than I am, too, enough to stand up between her and these wannabe killers and actually have a chance to prove her right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS. This work includes climactic plot elements from Zootopia. It diverges into an AU but will still give away the entire movie if you haven't seen it yet, so be careful. 
> 
> I wanted to twist the canon a bit. Alternative universe, Nick's POV. Things are more serious. Rated mature for violent scenarios.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Judy is down, winged, clutching her leg. There's another ram in the doorway, and that's smoke rising from a very real gun. We're in a corner here.

We duck behind a pillar and she pushes the case at me. "Take the case. Get it to Bogo."

"I'm not going to leave you behind. That's not happening."

"I can't walk," she hisses.

"We'll think of something."

My problem is I've already thought of something. One last con. I don't know when I decided it would be a good idea, don't know when I decided I trusted this little rabbit with something so risky.

But she trusts me, so that's enough.

There are still three of them out there. Four, if you count the one bleating the orders, but I'm not. She's never held a gun in her life. I don't think she has what it takes to kill someone, not even by proxy.

I fumble the handkerchief. Blueberries go everywhere: back in my pocket, all over the floor. The scrap isn't the best bandage, but maybe it will be enough to let her get out of here when this is all over.

"Nick, run."

" _No_ , Carrots." She has to make this hard, has to make me call her that.

I finish the knot. She tests her leg. No good.

The sheep is going on about something. Her mooks are stalking us, but they're terrible at it. No night vision, no hearing. Their hooves clop on the marble. It would be amusing, but if they've all got guns, incompetence is still plenty dangerous.

Judy is staring at the berries on the floor. "Switch them."

"What?"

"Switch the berries and the serum," she whispers. "Just in case. They want their evidence back. Let them think they have it."

Oh, she's good. A rabbit after my own heart. But I step on that glimmer of hope. "Yeah, but can you act, Carrots?"

"I wrote a stage play when I was nine," she says. "I've got this."

"You realize this all depends on them not shooting us with the other guns."

"No choice," she says.

"Yeah."

The serum goes in my pocket. It's not ideal. But we're out of time anyway.

I half-carry her and we run, back out into the main hall. The big one pounds after us, but I don't have time to look back. Too busy counting.

 _Now_. I push Judy down under me. The bullet snaps overhead and digs a cloud of masonry dust out of the archway.

Too open. Not going to work. I pull her left, back into another hallway full of mothballed exhibits and stacks of crates larger than I am. It looks like a dead end. I know it's a dead end, somehow, and our last, best option to both get out of this evaporates.

No choice, indeed.

"Nick-"

"It was worth a shot," I tell her. We push deeper into the maze, until we can't anymore. "Hide now. I'll take the case and draw them off."

"Nick, they'll know."

It doesn't matter. She has to survive this. I urge her toward a likely stack at the dead end of the row, a huge dusty one set against the wall with just enough space between the two crates on the bottom for her to squeeze in and be anonymous. I won't fit, but then I don't need to.

"Keep your ears down." I fumble in my pocket and push the little blue sphere into her paws. "And keep this safe. Get it to Bogo. He has to know."

She's in the crates now and I can barely reach her anymore. She's staring at me, packing so much pleading and fright into those big purple eyes that I nearly change my mind when the clatter of angry hooves starts into the crates somewhere behind me. I squeeze her paws around her precious cargo, then leave her there and step away from the gap.

That look is why I started this. Whenever she looks at me I know, deep down, that she's learned to see more in me than what I present to the world. She's got me believing I'm more than I am, too, enough to stand up between her and these wannabe killers and actually have a chance to prove her right.

I just hope she can forgive me for being the slyest of foxes, one last time.

I look down at the perfect ball in my paw. It's light. Insubstantial, to be the cause so much trouble. I load the serum gun, two berries and one dose of Night Howler juice. Judy says it will work on prey, and I'm hoping that even the gunslinger and his pals are wary enough of it to hesitate. I'm only going to get one shot. Well, two blueberries and then one shot, but they don't know that.

The first is intentionally wide, past the nose the sheep pushes around the corner so it splatters blue on the crate. I hear a curse.

Now they're cautious. I press the advantage, moving closer to the corner, throwing one last look at Judy's hiding place.

Henchman two is more careful. I let him get further before I send him ducking with the second berry. Now it's for keeps.

"Quick! Back here!"

"Careful, he's got the darts-"

I've never fought someone for control of a gun before. I don't really trust my chances, even with the element of surprise. It's almost suicide. But what choice do I have? If I don't stop them, we both die right here, guaranteed.

Any second now.

"No! Nick, _No!_ "

I knew she was too sharp to fool for long. I turn and she's trying to scramble free of the crates, trying to get to me.

"Judy, stay there." The big ram is coming. She'll get here before he does, but only just. I leave it and go to her.

"Nick, please-"

"Stay. It's the only way you'll be safe."

"Don't do this. Please." Her tears wet my paws as I push her bodily back into her hiding place. I press my face close to the gap. She meets me there, nose to nose, and something gives in my chest, raw and ragged.

"Stay in here, no matter what you see."

"Nick, you can't fight a savage. What if you don't get the gun in time?"

Oh, Carrots.

" _Promise me._ " Out of the corner of my eye, I see shadows on the crates at the junction. "Don't let me lose you."

That gets to her, and she stops struggling, and I want to die. Deserve to die, for betraying her like this.

"I promise, Nick."

The ram rounds the corner, levels his silvery gun. His buddies are right behind him.

I straighten and catch one last glimpse of Judy's face as I turn to stare them down. She may never forgive me, will probably never see me again, no matter how this goes. But she promised to stay.

I raise my own pistol, all the way up so the barrel tucks under my chin, and squeeze the trigger.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From a prompt by @warwolf47 on tumblr.  
> POV Judy.

“I’m going in there.”

“You can’t go in there.”

“I have to, Chief. Look at him.”

Bogo looms in the reinforced glass of the ER observation window. “I am looking, Hopps. I see a fox who killed three armed sheep with his own teeth and claws, and I’m not letting you in there.”

“He’s alone,” I say.

“That’s for the best right now.”

“You weren’t there.” I turn on him. Somewhere in the last week he’s stopped intimidating me at all, and it looks like he’s starting to get it. “He saved my life.”

“You’re alive because you had a hiding spot he couldn’t reach.” Bogo shakes his head. “You think he really would have know the difference between them and you while he was under?”

“Yes,” I lie. “He did this for me.”

“Hopps-” Bogo drags his hoof over his face. “I know you’re still coming down from this, but you have to understand. This is not the tram stop in rainforest. That fox is not your friend right now.”

“His name is Nick, and yes, he is.” He’s the only friend I’ve got, actually, and I’m not about to leave him alone. Not after this. I turn to go.

“Hopps, the board will make me pull your commission.”

Three days ago, that probably would have been enough to stop me in my tracks. Now, I’ve decided some things are worth more than even my brief, eventful career.

And Bogo doesn’t sound all that convinced of his own threat. He’s learned the hard way that I’m less than controllable. I know I still shouldn’t push it, but I also know Nick would push it if he were in my pawprints right now.

“Do what you have to.”

—

Nick is lashed to the bed.

It hits me harder than I think the doctor is expecting. There’s a blood line stuck to a shaved patch on his arm, and a long canine cannula in his nose. A loose band around his snout keeps his teeth closed.

The surgeons say there’s a good chance he might not wake up at all. He shouldn’t have to be tied down, even if it is for his own safety. There’s something wrong about that.

“How long?”

The armadillo doctor is still looking at me like I’m dangerous, too, but at least I’ve cowed him into being cooperative. “He’s off almost everything but the pain medication now, not that we know if any of it was having an effect to begin with.”

I stare at him. Ice curls in my gut. “He was _awake_ during surgery?”

“Not awake, no. But he was more active than most patients. We’re still not sure what most of the _Midnicampum_ varietals do to different nervous systems. It was hard to gauge what sedative dosages were necessary.”

“I understand.” My ears catch the slow heart rate telltale on the EKG. “Thank you.”

I get the sense the doctor isn’t used to being dictated to in his own hospital, but he’ll get over it. The door clicks shut behind him and we’re alone again. I find the single chair by the wall - too large for me, technically - and jump into it to wait, for however long it takes.

The post-action reports are done. I’ve read the relevant case law and statutes. Nick had killed three prey mammals with his own paws, his own teeth. That they’d been lethally armed and shooting at him and a ZPD officer helped his case somewhat, as did the fact that he had been under psychotropic duress the entire time. But a triple death was an anomaly. Enough to get the advisory board’s attention, and the media’s, and everyone else’s. Zootopia hadn’t dealt with anything like this for decades.

The one saving grace - the one real lifeline - is that the sole surviving witness to the attacks swears, on record and under her oath as a peace officer, that someone else shot Nicholas Wilde with a Nighthowler dart.

I’m lying for him.

Just like he lied for me.

He had me fooled, right up until he turned to go that one last time. He wasn’t supposed to be so noble. Wasn’t supposed to do something I hadn’t been prepared to do myself for him, had our positions been reversed. It was reckless and stupid and I owe him my life for it.

And his last big con might still kill him. I watch the steady cadence of his breathing. The perjury, and the risk of what happens to me now, doesn’t seem as important in the face of that. I have to make sure he’s okay.

He’d find it funny. A lifetime of moral adherence to code and rigor and structure of law, flipped on its head for one dumb fox.

We’re even now, and I hope it never happens again.

—

It takes two more days, with Bogo checking in personally the whole time to make sure I’m still alive. My duty status switched over to ‘paid leave’ somewhere in there. It seems I’m safe, for the moment. But Nick’s condition is a slow crawl back toward stable. He’s not bleeding anymore, but he’s no closer to awake, either.

I spend the time reading. I don’t understand near as much of the science behind the organics research as some of my agricultural siblings would, but I can read abstracts well enough to get the general idea.

Night Howlers and their cousins amp up the sensory intake of whoever gets them in their bloodstream. Subjects perceive sight and sound and smell and everything else as more intense than usual. It can be pleasant, in some cases, or at least harmless enough to others.

But certain varietals boost reflex and instinct along with the senses, trigger fight responses in predators and even some prey. Those are the dangerous ones, like the one Nick shot himself with.

There isn’t any literature on recovery, or withdrawal or permanent effects. The doctors have no way to tell what might happen when Nick wakes up until he wakes up.

And when he does wake up, the chiming alarms wake me up.

Nick’s breathing and heart rate spike. He shudders on the bed, despite his bonds. When his arms and legs don’t move, he raises his head, until cannula and muzzle bring it up short there, too. He’s starting to panic.

“Nick!” There’s nothing at the bedside to get me to his level. I have to scramble right up onto the mattress beside his head.

He rasps a growl. Something in his eyes flickers back and forth, between recognition and dawning fear and something ice-cold and totally feral. It’s almost enough to make me back off.

But his head lashes back and forth and he whines past the obstructions on his snout and I have to do something. The muzzle is velcro. I tear it away.

_“Judy-”_

“I’m here.”

Until I’m not, until someone hauls me bodily off the bed. The nurses have arrived.

“Are you crazy?” The moose grunts. “You don’t touch critical patients. Stay the hell out of the way, cop.”

His ocelot partner is talking to Nick, trying to get him to calm down and answer questions. They check his pupils and hover over him and I’m stuck in the corner, watching the muscles in Nick’s wrists bunch and strain under the straps holding him down.

But he’s alive.

He’s alive, and he recognized me, and that’s enough to make me weak with relief.

A whole procession of medical staff tends to him for hours. The questions and tests sail over my head; the dire warnings not to interfere bounce off every time the nurses repeat them. I tune out everything else and sit on that overlarge chair, knees hugged to my chest, and hold Nick’s gaze.

And as soon as they leave him alone again, I return to his bedside.

He’s still tense. The last of whatever the serum did to him is still working its way out of his system. But his eyes are clear again, and he’s even breathing without the aid of the cannula. They’ve given him his arms back. Good thing, too, because if he’d still been tied down I was ready to untie him.

“It hurts,” he says.

Something twists in me. He’s still loopy from painkillers. I never thought I’d miss his effortless sarcasm.

My paw is careful on his neck. “You got shot three times.”

“That’s it?”

 _There we go._ “Nick.” Two of them are superficial. One of them skimmed the edge of his shoulder and another took a notch out of his ear. But one bullet drilled into his thigh, close to the bone. He’ll be a long, long time healing.

“I don’t remember, Carrots,” he says. “I made you hide, and then-” his brow furrows.

I’m not about to fill in the gaps for him, not this soon. I’m scared enough at what will happen the next time I fall asleep properly, at what I’ll dream about.

“It was fast,” I say instead, and brush the fur of his cheek. He seems to like it. His eyes close and his ears relax.

“So soft,” he says. “Better than the bright lights or the loud heart thing.”

“EKG. Electrocardiogram.”

“Whatever. It’s loud.”

“I’ll get them to turn it down,” I say, even though I’m pretty sure it’s already on its lowest setting. His hearing must still be overkeyed.

His nostrils flare and he leans back against his pillow. I take his paw.

“Blood,” he says, identifying the scent. “Is that my blood?”

I eye the IV bag on the other side of the bed. “It is now.”

“Oh.” Nick swallows. “And antiseptic. And saline and-” he breathes again. “Cedar.”

“Cedar?”

“yeah, it’s like-” he brings my paw to his muzzle and stops. His breath is strong and hot on my fingers. “Oh.”

Awareness prickles.

I hadn’t considered this. Not seriously, anyway. We’d been so busy, running for our lives and ducking explosions and dodging gunfire. There was no time to think about anything else.

And even now doesn’t seem like the right time to think about it too hard, not when he’s pushing my paw against his nose like this. I stay still, to keep from startling him and because there’s the knowledge creeping up on me that I don’t want him to stop, either.

It’s calming him. The muscles in his neck relax and he settles deeper against his cushions, and risks a smile as I stroke his muzzle.

“It’s _you._ ”

“It’s probably horrible,” I mutter. “I’ve spent two days in a chair.”

“No, no, it’s good.” He shifts and holds my paws closer. “It means you’re still here.”

“Not going anywhere,” I say. Of course there’s a lump in my throat. “Not until you’re okay.”

“I remember,” he says, and pushes his nose at my paws with an anxious little fox noise that has no business tugging at my heart. “I told you not to let me lose you.”

Nick’s eyes are clear. Dim from pain and overloaded senses, yes, but he means every word, even in this state.

“Nick.”

“Don’t let me.”

I can’t. Not anymore. In three days’ time, he’s uprooted his entire life for me. Gained a friend and someone to trust, maybe for the first time ever. And he got shot doing it, in a crazy, desperate bid to to preserve something so new and important to him.

He’s going to need someone to hold him up when it all comes back, to remind him why he did it and what it meant. More than that, though - I can’t imagine going on without him alongside, either. It’s about time I made some stupid decisions, too.

So I climb right onto the bed proper, right next to him, close enough to push my muzzle over his, all the way up to his forehead so his nose slides against my neck, so he knows I’m _right here_. His shiver triggers one of my own.

“Never.”

**Author's Note:**

> [The inspiration.](http://nickjudy.postype.com/post/118101/)


End file.
